The Rules
by the real snape
Summary: The seventh year at Hogwarts. Much has changed, for the Deputy Headmistress as well as for the new Headmaster. But it seems that some rules can still be the same …
1. Chapter 1

Beta'ed as usual by the brilliant Kelly Chambliss. I usually manage _no chan_ on my own, but she keeps me in line with _no spag_. And I hope (and trust) that over here at FF net everyone is as familiar with Chan, PWP, and the whole list of fanfic terms which are in constant use at LJ. This story was originally written for Snape's 50th birthday bash at LiveJournal.

**Hogwarts, autumn of 1997**

Snape checked the rather ornate clock on the mantelpiece in the Headmaster's office. His office, he corrected himself. Professor McGonagall would arrive soon. She was nothing if not punctual.

The important thing was to be well-prepared for the meeting. To list what he wanted to get out of it. So prepare, Snape thought. In meetings with Professor McGonagall, constant vigilance is where you start. He looked at his notes so far. MW!OotPM. HSoW. He sighed. Slowly, elaborately, he added Pol!McG to the list. He hesitated. Then, with a little arrow, he indicated that this should be at the top. I'm procrastinating, he realized. He had no time for that, which was an excellent reason to continue. Was MW!OotP still good for a place on the list? He gave the question his well-considered, analytical all. Yes, he finally decided. For old times' sake. After all, MW!OotP was what had started The Game …

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*

**Grimmauld Place, summer of 1995**

"And she uses the M-word!" Molly Weasley glared at each of the Order members in turn. "The children shouldn't hear that kind of language. Sorry, Sirius, I know she's your mother …"

"I wish you wouldn't use that against me. So far we've tried removing, hexing, slicing, and burning that portrait. If you know another way to get rid of the old hag, by all means, say so." A look from Dumbledore kept Sirius from actually slamming the table.

"Sirius! You shouldn't call your _mother_ an old _hag_. The children, you know," Molly protested.

"Perhaps you could express your allegiance to the League of Motherhood by not pointing out that Sirius is her son? It pains her so," Snape drawled. He felt rather than heard Minerva's chuckle. She kept her eyes on her minutes.

"Now, we all share Molly's concerns…" Albus's voice was at its most mellow.

No, Snape thought.

"No!" Sirius yelled.

Well, perhaps, Snape amended, if keeps me out of your camp. Whenever he had the choice, he was fastidious in the company he kept. He looked sideways at Minerva. She scribbled something in the margins of her notes. OotPM, the first scribble read. Below that, ST!PWP. Below that ALL. All? All who?

He heard Molly prattling on about the unsuitability of Grimmauld Place as a place to bring up children -- given the result in the form of its present owner, Snape was for once inclined to agree. He saw Minerva add a firm "MW!" to the first scribble, which now read "MW!OotPM".

It took all of his self-control not to smile. MW! Of course! "Molly Weasley!" So, OotPM? It could only be "Order of the Phoenix Meetings". The first of a list of … speakers? Hardly; she'd put that in the normal minutes, not in cryptic marginalia. What else, then? She must be as irritated by Molly as he was. Could that be it? A list of irritating things? Very irritating things. A top three, perhaps?

Then what was second? ST!PWP. An irritation in Minerva's life, ST for short. Slytherin Triumphs in the House Cups? Slytherin Triumphs in the Quidditch Cup? Unfortunately, both were unlikely to figure on a current list. Stupid Transfiguration!Performance by Weasley and Potter? A perennial issue, true, but 'by' and 'and' missing. 'Of the' in OotP was present, so this would be inconsistent, therefore out of character. Suddenly, he grinned. Of course. Sybill Trelawney. PWP? Pissed … w…p…? W for Whiskey? The cooking sherry, he'd always thought.

And the third notation? ALL? If initials were the key … Let's see. AL. Albus, Arthur, Alastor? Argus … Arabella … Aberforth … Perhaps LL, not AL. The last name an L, definitely. Lupin. Lockhart? Not any longer. He might have headed that list once, though. Lovegood? Longbottom! L. Longbottom? No, A. Augusta . That had to be it. Not the Longbottom he'd chosen for a list of major pains in the arse. But then, Neville Longbottom was in Minerva's house, so heaven knew what she'd been through with Augusta.

While Snape had been thinking, the meeting had progressed to the next topic. A lengthy discussion of a safe way to get Potter to Headquarters. Moody at his most uncooperative, "Constant! Vigilance!" taking the space other people use for commas and full stops. Slowly, Snape picked up his quill. Below Minerva's doodles, he added "AM!CV". With a little gesture of the quill, he indicated a place above ST!PWP. He felt Minerva stiffen, heard her catch her breath. A shocked, sideways glance. Rapier-fast, he winked. She relaxed slightly. Looked at him again. Then she drew an arrow to place "AM!CV" between the ST and ALL notes. Snape carefully pointed at "PWP". He lifted an eyebrow. Minerva smiled and mouthed 'later'.

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*

**Hogwarts, autumn of 1997**

It turned out Snape had been right. The doodles had been a list of major irritations, and ST was, indeed, Dear Sybill. "PWP" was blatantly obvious – once Minerva had explained it. "Prattling Without Point." It had led Snape to propose the first of The Rules governing The Game as he and Minerva would come to play it. He had argued that pointless prattling was only truly objectionable in those who were capable of making a point in the first place. Much as they had hated to admit it, not _everything_ Molly said was stupid. Moody's fear of losing a buttock definitely qualified as a Pain-in-the-Back-Pocket-Area form of prattling; the very existence of the Order proved most of his points. But in Sybill, Snape maintained, prattling was a natural disaster, proof of the Gods' sick sense of humour, an inborn disability. One might as well object to ST!Existing, he had added, and "name one good point the woman has ever made." So 'No ST!PWP' had become a rule.

And "will you stop complaining about Potter, Longbottom, and the Weasleys?" Minerva had sighed exasperatedly. "If you can't deal with children who are annoying, you've no business being a teacher." It was true that she didn't list Malfoy's habit of calling people Mudbloods, nor Crabbe's attempt at Transfiguring an egg into a tea cosy ("What did he use – an ostrich egg?" Snape had asked when he saw the ceiling of her classroom.) So he'd kept children's annoyances to himself, and only rarely had Minerva needed to scribble No ChAn!

The Game had been played at Order and Staff meetings alike. Soon, DUE had not been enough, and a separate list of 'three most annoying things about Umbridge' had been created. But they had never managed to cut it down to less than four. "_**E**_ for _Everything_ just sums it up, really," Minerva had muttered after the publication of Ministerial Decree 24.

"What will we list next year?" they had wondered after Umbridge's, well, resignation. But Horace Slughorn had been a worthy replacement, and HSoW had headed many of Minerva's lists. Snape had firmly lowered it to third place, at the most. But now that Snape was Headmaster, he understood the full annoyance of Slughorn on Workload. He would have been glad to tell Minerva how right she had been. But The Game, as a competitive sport, had been abandoned.

Do you still play when you're alone, Minerva? he wondered. What heads your list now? SSE? He heard footsteps on the staircase. There is an insultingly correct way of knocking, he thought, and you should get an award for it.

"Headmaster." Dry as sand, impeccably polite, cutting deep. I was right to put Polite!McG at the top, he thought. It's … excruciatingly … irritating.

"Professor McGonagall," he said. "Do sit down."

Minerva sat. She let the silence drop. The way Weasley dropped the Quaffle, Snape thought. It still hurt to remember the enjoyable discussion as to whether Won-Won's Quidditch skills were ChAn or an insult to the memory of Godric.

During the last few days, he had tried out and rejected dozens of opening lines. For once -- if you can't beat them, join them, or, at least, try their methods -- he opted for Gryffindor Directness.

"Albus asked me to kill him."

Utter, shocked stillness. Minerva no longer seemed to draw breath. Is there any research on the number of casualties caused by Gryffindor fucking Directness, Snape wondered. Is this where I give the Kiss of Life? He remembered that, when someone Transfigures you into an animal, you can't get out of the mess yourself. Did ferrets lead pleasant, enviable lives? At that moment, Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, with the intention ultimately to speak, Snape presumed. A few deep breaths. Finally, she managed: "You're insane. "

Another silence.

"Stark, staring mad." An angry crescendo." Barking. And the most god-awful …"

"Please," Snape interrupted. "Just listen. I'll explain. Please …"

To his surprise, she did listen. Or perhaps had run out of things to say.

"It's a long story," he started. "Bear with me. It began with his hand. Albus … he had injured that hand quite badly. An exceedingly dark curse. It … I did what I could … Had he come sooner … When he finally did come, it was killing him. Months, a year at the most.

"You-Know-Who wanted him dead. He ordered young Malfoy to kill him."

"_Young_ Malfoy? _Draco_? Do you expect me to believe that You-Know-Who left the murder of the greatest wizard of all times to _Draco Malfoy_? "

"No. That is, he did order it, but he knew Draco would fail. He also knew Draco would need help … that the boy would ask me. And he wanted to test my loyalty. Either I'd have to help Draco, or I'd have to kill Albus myself. He wanted to know whether I would."

"Why didn't you tell Albus? He could have prevented it," Minerva snapped.

"Actually, I did tell Albus. He chose not to prevent it. He knew that the curse would kill him sooner or later. He told me that he wanted me to do it. That a mercy killing by me would be better than … Bellatrix … or Greyback. "

Minerva paled at the image he evoked. Then she straightened her back. "No. He wouldn't ask that. He wouldn't ask it of you … of anyone. Potter witnessed it. He heard Albus plead … beg you …" Her voice faltered.

"To do it. That was what he was asking. For me to do it. If that damned Nosey Parker witnessed the whole thing, he must have told you how long Albus and Malfoy were alone together. Long enough for Albus to save them both in a thousand different ways, injury or no injury. "

From the look in Minerva's eyes, he saw that the explanation hit home. Unlike Potter, she wouldn't discard a rational argument, he thought with a flicker of hope.

"Why? Give me one good reason why you did it." Minerva's voice was flat.

"If I had refused, You-Know-Who would have killed me. That was against Albus's plans. He knew I had nearly outlived my usefulness as a spy at Hogwarts. Albus wanted me alive, and he wanted me as Headmaster. To do something for him. And now I need your help doing it." That was, at most, a partial truth. Yes, Albus did tell him to get the sword to Potter. But that wasn't the main reason for my continued usefulness, thought Snape. At some point I … have to tell … Not 'Lily's son'. Don't even think it. I have to tell _Potter_ about Albus's plans for him. I can't share _that_ with Minerva; she'd do everything to prevent it ... If Albus is right, it shouldn't be prevented. Without intending to, Minerva would end up as Voldemort's strongest ally...

He looked up. McGonagall was still motionless, still as white as a sheet. I betrayed you, he thought. Betrayed our friendship. Killed your best friend. And just as you were learning to live with that, you find out that _he_ let you down, too. How much could one person take?

"For that I … eh … have to … eh … fetch something from … from my private rooms. Please wait," he muttered and hurried out. At least, he could give her some privacy.

/////////

He had asked Severus … and never told her … had wanted Severus … had _planned _for him to become Head Master … because he had to do something … and what the fuck was it that Headmaster Snape could do? That Headmistress McGonagall couldn't?

Slowly, determinedly, she rose and walked over to Albus's portrait. His furtive glances gave the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it. To make him say it.

"Is that true?" Hoping against hope.

"Well … the facts … yes. But …"

"Yes, but? But!? But what!? Your bloody Greater Good? That's your sorry excuse for a reason? Don't even dare saying it. What use is a greater good, when … there _is_ no greater good in torturing and destroying others…

"Minerva, please, I understand your disappointment… "

"No, you don't! You don't even begin to understand … You once said you wondered whether we do not sort too early," Minerva hissed. "It must be such a pleasure to be right again. We do sort too early, Albus. Severus, for instance, would have been a brilliant Gryffindor. Didn't you once give Longbottom some points for the courage to stand up against one's friends? A rather meager allocation it was, but then… you and friendship …"

"Minerva, please, let's be reasona…"

"Oh, bugger that! It wasn't enough merely to ask him to kill you, was it? We all had to hate him …His loneliness … How despicable. How utterly despicable! How could you? How could you … even … _contemplate_ … doing it?

"You should have been sorted into Slytherin, not he! Oh, yes, it's all there: slyness, ambition … You could have made it to the very top in Dark Arts! You're not a Parselmouth, true, but that isn't _mandatory_ … and I'm beginning to wonder just _how_ you think you differ from … You-know …"

Minerva! I know you don't mean that …"

"Don't patronize me! You-Know-Who, at least, did Severus the honour of thinking him loyal enough not to murder a friend … he ordered it as proof that no friendship existed… You made him betray … his friendship … his loyalty … I …"

She turned away sharply. Don't ask, she thought. Don't ask why he didn't tell me. Is it because I'm a woman? A wish to _protect _me? I've fought in three bloody wars, and he still thinks I'm a feeble woman? Not a good enough warrior? Not a good enough friend, perhaps? Was it even friendship, in Albus's eyes? Or was I just a useful worker? I mustn't cry. Whatever I do, I mustn't cry. Mustn't show the sodding, patronizing Neanderthal of a man…

Without looking at the desk or the portrait that loomed over it, she Accio'ed the two chairs and put them in front of the fireplace, backs to the room. She stared for a moment, took her wand again, and Transfigured them in high-backed Victorian wing-chairs. At least we'll have some privacy, she thought. I won't have to look at you. Just at Severus. If I can bring myself to do that.

Heavily, she sat down in one of the chairs. It had been so obvious. So painfully obvious. All her dirty looks, her calculated insults, her snide remarks. And she was still Deputy Headmistress, still not at Azkaban, still not Crucio'ed. If Severus had been an out-and-out Death Eater … For Merlin's sake, neither she … nor Flitwick, nor Hooch, nor Hagrid, not even Poppy … none of them would have lasted a week. And yet she hadn't realized. Blind loyalty, she thought. Blind, stupid loyalty.

She heard footsteps on the stairs. Severus, she realized. He's back. What do I say? How do you begin to say … She huddled against the chair.

**A/N **I hope to see you all next Sunday.


	2. Chapter 2

Slowly, Severus mounted the staircase. On the last steps, he stamped his feet loudly. Better give her a bit of an advance warning, he thought. By now, Albus will have told her … well, _told_ her nothing, of course, trust the secretive sod. But he will have confirmed my story… that, yes. He has to, if he wants his little plan to work. What on earth can I say? "My dear friend, all is forgiven?" She'll have me in St Mungo's, and since I just managed to come up with that sickeningly noble idea, perhaps it's where I should be. Besides, _all_ isn't forgiven. I can't. She should have wondered, should have asked … just once … Blind faith in Dumbledore I can understand, I'm hardly in a position to criticize … after all, I know his plans for Potter, and I still … But she should've asked me why. She should've asked a reason. I thought her the one person who wouldn't just call me a filthy Slytherin Death Eater and be done with it. Not automatically. Not without asking. We were friends. Weren't we? Or was I just someone Albus ordered her to work with?

He opened the door and looked towards his desk. No Minerva, no chairs. Albus, looking haggard, keeping his eyes down. Snape's eyes circled the room. The other portraits looked either worried, embarrassed, or simply avoided his eyes. With the exception of Phineas Black, whose face had an expression that Snape could only describe as a mixture of outrage and amusement. What on earth had Minerva said to Albus?

He saw the two high-backed chairs. Both carefully turned away from Albus's portrait. Minerva in one of them, forcing herself to look at him.

"What needs to be done," he started, taking the other chair, avoiding her eyes for the moment, "What I need your help for … Potter must have Gryffindor's sword." That, at least, was unexpected enough.

"Potter? Gryffindor's sword??" Minerva was glad of his business-like manner. She had meant to be as helpful as possible; it was the least one could do. She still meant to, but this? And even if Potter needed the ruddy sword, why couldn't Severus just hand it to him somehow? Why did he need _her_? "For Merlin's sake … why?" she added when Severus didn't answer.

"I don't know. I truly don't. And not for lack of asking, I can tell you. I just got the perfectly clear, perfectly incomprehensible order to deliver the sodding sword in such a manner that Potter has to work hard to get it and doesn't know it comes from me. That in itself would not be difficult to do. But there are … complications. That's were you come in."

"Explain." Minerva leaned toward Snape, feeling slightly better at the idea of complications to be sorted. And, if she was quite honest with herself, at the idea that Severus, too, was kept in the dark.

"Dumbledore's Army. They're moving beyond meeting, talking, and playing at resistance. They know. "

"Know what?"

"Know that Dumbledore left Potter Gryffindor's sword in his will. Trust the Ministry to muck things up."

"The Ministry? Well, they usually muck things up, but how did they manage …"

Snape felt better for the return of some of the old acerbity.

"Scrimgeour went to see them. He gave them the other things – did you hear about the legacies?" Seeing that Minerva hadn't, he explained: "Weasley got the Deluminator, Granger a first edition of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ in ancient runes, Potter got his first Snitch. And the sword.

"Scrimgeour visited them, tried to find out what was behind the legacies, naturally failed utterly, and handed everything over. Except the sword. And the abysmal idiot went to see them at the Weasleys' place. Might as well yell it up and down Diagon Alley.

"So now Miss Weasley has espoused the sword's cause as her own. Like the staunch little helpmeet she is." That's ChAn, he thought at once.

"There's no need for that!" snapped Minerva. "If anything, she's right, and …" And besides, it's ChAn, she had almost added. Did Severus think about The Game as often as she did? School meetings were, since the arrival of the Carrows, too nightmarish for anything resembling a game, but during the Order meetings she missed it … him … so much. He hadn't been there during MW!Weddings. Or during FdlC!Glamour-queen. FW was too confusing, she had decided, let the girl keep her own name. And it wasn't as if she had actually listed any of these. She just wished there was still someone to list them with.

"Sorry," Snape murmured. He noticed her surprise at that unusual word. "It's been … difficult," he added. Minerva looked contrite. He continued. "The problem is: they plan to steal it. And they want to hand it to Potter."

"Do they know where he is, then? Oh, no … If the Carrows find out …"

"No, they don't know, I'm pretty sure of that," Snape said reassuringly. He wanted to add 'Not that such a minor detail would stop them …' No ChAn, dammit, he reminded himself.

"But they are a complication. Now, here's my idea.

"I've obtained a copy of the sword. I need to get the original to Potter soon and planned to replace it with that copy. It seldom came out of the glass case anyhow, and with a Slytherin Headmaster it could be ignored completely. But if those brats do go after it, they will draw attention to it. And that's the last thing I need.

"Can you, somehow, stop them? They're in your house, they trust you; can you think of a way, without giving them actual information? The Carrows mustn't find out; Merlin knows they stop at nothing. A bunch of students is no match for them. And I don't want them to come to any … physical harm … Any ideas?"

"Let me think …" Minerva stared into the fire for a while. "So there is a replacement sword … if they … or perhaps … " She fell silent.

The obvious solution would be to move the sword beforehand and to protect the case with such powerful spells, for 'security reasons', that no-one can get near it, Snape thought. And I could do it without you. But that would be it. Our … working relationship would be destroyed beyond repair. And I …I can't … I need … your… friendship. There, I've said it.

"And besides," said a little voice in his head, "there might be a day when Voldemort comes to Hogwarts. Or Harry. Or both. Albus hinted at it. On that day, you'd be so much better off with Professor McGonagall on your side. Be honest, the idea of her fighting you outright, without any of your precious 'Rules', scares you shitless. What if you don't win? Worse, what if you do?" Snape reformulated his thoughts carefully. Undoubtedly, he mused, a powerful ally like Minerva was worth having. In the interest of The Order. He suddenly realized she had spoken.

"You're right; the attention … Yes! That's it!"

"You found a way?"

"Absolutely. We let them do it."

Snape stared, momentarily speechless. Stress of the moment? Albus's betrayal? Not as young as she was? Does one ever get over _four_ stunners at her age? Should she lie down? Pull yourself together, man, you sound like Poppy.

"Have you lost it?" Perhaps a tad too un-Poppy-like, but effective.

"Will you listen for once? We let them try, not succeed, _ob_viously." Min's voice, heavy with familiar sarcasm. "Then we stop them; we -- you, as Headmaster, I as Deputy and their Head of House – mete out a suitable punishment. And you, to protect a valuable artifact, send the sword in its case to Gringott's.

"The fake one, I mean. That way you can hand the real one over to Harry, as you planned all along." Snape recognized the kind, patient, and experienced teacher's voice. In a moment, she'll tell me that there's no such thing as a stupid question, he thought, highly amused. Can I risk it? Or is it too early? He decided he could.

Admiringly, soundlessly, he applauded. "Why, Professor McGonagall, that plan is … worthy of my own House," he smiled. To his relief, he saw a flicker of a return smile.

"You need to be out of your office," said Minerva. "Your absence must be publicly known, or they won't risk it. And we must both be here at the right time."

"I have an idea on that. I dare say that tomorrow you can find an excuse to pause at the Gryffindor table, to speak to one of them. I'll pass by, and I'll tell you I want a meeting that afternoon, in your office, to discuss … new regulations. "

"Excellent. But make it later; they must have time to prepare. Friday … no, Saturday. It's a Hogsmeade weekend, the last one before Christmas; the school will be practically deserted."

Snape nodded. "You can throw me your usual 'less than the dust beneath my chariot wheels' look; they'll even feel sorry for you that I'm stopping you from going out yourself. Besides, it means they can't go, either, it'll give them a real sense of sacrifice. They would make that sacrifice, wouldn't they?" he asked, suddenly doubtful.

"Yes!" A whiplash of a reply. However sorry Minerva felt for him, however guilty at that 'less than the dust', she couldn't let this slur pass.

Not called 'the Lion of Gryffindor' for nothing, Snape thought, grinning inwardly. I'll have to be damn careful with your cubs.

"When we return to my office, they'll think we needed something," he added. "There's a little, hidden closet at the bottom of the staircase. We can stay there - it's just big enough – till we hear them come up."

"A closet? I've never heard of it."

"That's why it's called 'hidden'." Snape couldn't resist it. "I've had it made," he added hastily. "I've found it … most convenient … on occasions."

You would, Minerva thought, but she managed to keep her face expressionless.

You want to tell me what a right little Slytherin I am, Snape thought, but you don't feel comfortable enough with me, yet. So you deadpan.

"We'll berate them," he continued, "I'll threaten to bring in the Carrows…"

"I tell you they're in _my_ House," Minerva added. And this time, I'll know you listen, she thought, relaxing against the back of her chair.

"And I give in ungraciously. That is to say, I'll give them detention with Hagrid. The Forbidden Forest is just dangerous enough to be convincing, and Hagrid'll mother them all right. He'll probably ask them to tea."

"I thought you wanted to avoid physical harm?" It was out before Minerva realized. They looked at each other, and, suddenly, they both laughed. Thank Merlin, Snape thought, I can still work with you … laugh with you, even.

"So, that's settled then?" he asked.

"Yes, it seems we have covered it … By the way, how did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That they were planning the theft? How did you find out? They're usually quite good at covering up," Minerva said, with a hint of justifiable pride in her voice.

"They are. They're a credit to you," Snape smiled, "but I'm not the greatest known Legilimens of the Wizarding World for nothing." The moment he said it, he realized something was wrong.

"You've done … WHAT!? That's … that's … How could you? It's an intrusion. A flagrant breach of privacy. It's … Who did you use this on? All students? Gryffindors? " Me, she wanted to ask, but she wasn't sure she wanted an answer. Would it be believable, anyhow?

"It's necessary," he said, calmly. "I had to, for …"

She slammed the arm of her chair before he could finish. "For what?" she almost shouted. "What's _your_ excuse? Why don't you realize that there _is_ no excuse for such … such … unspeakable methods? Why don't we just all join _them_?"

Looking at her grief-stricken face, Snape suddenly realized that this wasn't about him. Not just about him, at least. Albus … he remembered how he had felt, when Albus told him his plans for Potter. We're all caught up in this mess, he thought. And when it's over … if it's over -- no. When. I must, at least, believe that. When it's over, what will we be like? What will we have done? How like _them_ will we be? I've avoided my own face in mirrors for the past sixteen years.

October 31, 1981. The date flashed before him, automatically. He briefly closed his eyes. And you? he thought. Not in this war, I think. No Unforgivable. Not yet. But the previous ones? He suddenly, ferociously, hoped that this time, Minerva hadn't. And wouldn't. We'll need some true decency, he thought. If we want to return to anything approaching normality.

"I had to," he admitted. "To keep them safe. I did promise him that."

No need to explain who 'him' was. Minerva nodded, accepting the promise, he knew, not the deed.

"I couldn't ask the children."

"Obviously. You could have asked me, though. You did today."

"I asked you to stop them, not to make them tell you things. As if they would. Tell you everything, I mean. And I need to know everything. Besides, the Carrows use Legilimency. So does Bellatrix. So does the Dark Lord himself. If they capture one of them ... If the Dark Lord should find out that they told you … and that we worked together ..."

"They wouldn't know that we work together," Minerva said, in the sad voice of one who fights the inevitable against reason.

"Don't underestimate his intelligence … We can't take the risk. _I_ can't take the risk. I have to do it this way. I know you hate it. Despise it. If …" He paused. No, he thought, I won't say 'if you can think of another way …' because if you can't, then you'll have to agree. Unspoken agreement perhaps, yet agreement. You'd be an accessory to the deed. I don't want you to be … implicated. "I have to," was all he said.

Feverishly, Professor McGonagall tried to think of another way. But every option seemed a dead end. It's because I'm tired, she thought. It's the shock. I'll find something. Soon. I can't let him … just because it's for the children's own … She shuddered as the word 'good' flitted through her mind. Wanted to suppress it, couldn't. She could, and did, suppress the urge to look at Albus's portrait, though. Not yet, she thought, not for a long time.

"Just take care what … when …" She hesitated.

"Oh, I will. Besides, it's not as if ferreting round in students' minds is my favourite spectator sport," Snape drawled. "It's quite enough to mark Longbottom's essays."

How can you joke about it, Minerva wondered. Then she saw the look in his eyes and understood. He's used to doing the dirty job, as decently as possible. And to being despised for it. Sarcasm is a defense mechanism, she realized. Something to hide behind. And the only thing I can do for him is help him with that.

Slowly, she smiled. "Remember," she said. "No ChAn."

**A/N **Next week I'll continue with a Snape / Slughorn friendship story. Yes, I was surprised myself. It's what fest-writing does for you: exploring completely new characters. Still, there'll be a Hooch/Minerva cameo. I hope to see you all, even if the story won't show up in the Minerva queue.


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